


Home

by sepia_sigyn



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: America, Brooklyn, First Love, Friendship, Gen, Home, Late 1930s and early 2010s, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 13:49:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20390731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sepia_sigyn/pseuds/sepia_sigyn
Summary: A tale of two Brooklyns.





	Home

Steve could not believe his luck. _Golly_. Never in a million years had he imagined it would happen.

But it did.

He had asked Keira Connolly to the pictures on Saturday night.

And she’d said yes.

Keira had dark curly hair and bright blue eyes that always carried a bit of sadness even when she laughed. Which she did a lot when they were together. 

The first time he’d spotted her, he was on his way down the street to play stick ball with Bucky and some pals. They’d walked by St. Agnes’ just as a rush of parishioners was making its way to the 11 o’clock mass.

And there she was.

Dressed in a simple paisley frock, hands adored in white gloves, she took a tiny lace kerchief and placed it over her head as she stepped towards the entrance of the church. She’d caught him staring and winked right at him.

Steve didn’t know too much about the Catholics, or Papists as his father muttered on occasion at the dinner table. He knew they all went to a special strict school run by nuns, and he thought they worshipped statues or something. When he asked Keira about this, she’d laughed for a good two minutes straight.

The next Sunday, he’d convinced Bucky to come wait with him outside the church at noon. When Keira showed up as he’d hoped, Bucky quickly dashed off with a suggestive wink and they were alone.

They went for colas at Cole’s shop and chatted easily. He’d learned that she was born in Cork, Ireland and he’d told her about his dream to do something great for his country, if only he had the chance. She loved fantasy stories (especially this big thick book called The Hobbit) and seeing the fancy window displays in all the stores in Manhattan at Christmastime.

But most of all, she loved to sing.

So this was his chance. The new Judy Garland picture was playing at the Rialto. As much as she loved music and fantasy stories, she’d certainly say yes. 

They walked home that chilly autumn night, the light drizzle dampening their cheeks, their fingers trembling until they’d found each others’ hands. 

_Somewhere over the rainbow_

_Skies are blue_

_And the dreams that you dare to dream_

_Really do come true_

Her voice was soft, sweet. A hint of an Irish accent. She’d come to America five years ago and already sounded almost as much like a Brooklynite as Steve.

When they arrived at her home, they stood on the stoop, still holding hands, shivering, and feeling like their insides were made of soda bubbles. As a light came on in the back of the brownstone, she’d leaned in and kissed him on the cheek before dashing inside.

Steve stood there, breathless, his heart full of hope and possibility.

\--

Dolores Cortés had eyes that shone like diamonds when she laughed.

They’d met one summer evening at a punk concert in a dive bar in Williamsburg (Steve surprised himself by getting into it – it did speak to some of the frustration he felt as the man out of time), bumping into each other a few times on the dark and dingy dance floor but laughing it off easily.

She was all sweat and smiles and shouting. They’d exchanged numbers and agreed to meet for brunch the next morning.

C Cubed was bright and airy. All the food on the menu was locally sourced, ethical, organic, clean.

Steve ordered something called a hand-crafted matcha-infused quinoa frittata.

Dolores had a tattoo of a serpent figure that covered most of her back, a mythical creature called Quetzalcoatl, she told him as they sipped Bloody Marys. One of her cousins down in El Paso had done it for her and it had taken over 30 hours and multiple seatings to complete. When she saw Steve’s expression, she asked him if he’d ever get a tattoo. He’d surprised her by saying he’d consider getting something simple and meaningful, like a cross.

When he asked if she believed in God, she’d said that she wasn’t sure. She didn’t know if she could trust the institutions around religion. But she trusted her community, her ancestors, the stories passed down for generations. Even though he believed differently, Steve admitted that hers was a very reasonable perspective.

“Over the rainbow” the tiny pin on her lapel said. Steve knew what it meant before he’d noticed the flush in her cheeks every time Lisa, their sweet-faced waitress, went out of her way to take a break from the morning bustle to chat with them.

He liked talking to Dolores. She was open and funny and expressive, her rapid speech peppered with Spanish words. Noticing that the drinks didn’t seem to hit him the way they’d been hitting her, she joked that she had a really awesome time with “stalwart Steve” and felt like she could trust him in a world she didn’t always understand. 

As they wrapped up (both grinning over the fact that Lisa had left her number on the receipt), they promised to make brunch a regular thing.

“See you around, _guapo_,” she’d hugged him firm and tight, ruffling his hair before strolling off to a hula hooping class.

And, for the first time since he’d come out of the ice, he felt it.

_There’s no place like home._

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea bumping around in my head for a while and finally got down to writing it today…which just happens to be the 80th anniversary of the release of The Wizard of Oz!


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